


Demons Flight, Angels Fight

by arrestjellyfish



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alibi Theory, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Theory, Evil Mary Morstan, Implied/Referenced Suicide, John Watson is Dying, Love Confessions, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Not Really Character Death, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Season/Series 04, Sherlock (TV) Season/Series 04 Fix-it, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-10 08:23:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17422337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrestjellyfish/pseuds/arrestjellyfish
Summary: The demon can wait no longer, swoops down upon him. Plays with strangling the life from his lungs. Closing trachea, cervical spinal contusion. Claws carving, tearing at goosebump skin. Wringing the fight from her feast.But then; she flees. If devils leave, will angels follow?“John?”





	Demons Flight, Angels Fight

**Author's Note:**

> HEED THE TAGS BEFORE READING
> 
> If you are familiar with Alibi Theory and Drug Theory as analyses of Series 4 you will be a bit more familiar reading this, but essentially all you need to know is this: I have taken series 4 as being highly manipulated and unreliable in its narration for several reasons, and this work is my sort-of-theory-sort-of-vague-resemblance of one of the things that could be happening.
> 
> Lines in italics have been taken directly from series four - in the most part from The Lying Detective - in order to place them in a new context and see how it affects their meaning.
> 
> This is a very angst-heavy piece of writing exploring a dying John Watson and Sherlock Holmes at his side. The whole work will - I repeat WILL - have a happy ending, but for this first chapter, it is not happy whatsoever. Please be cautious if you are sensitive to the topic areas listed in the tags. Be safe, and enjoy...

* * *

 

"Love consists in this: that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other." Rainer Maria Rilke

* * *

 

Pain. _It’s a memory inhibitor._

 

Unbelievable pain is all he can register. Mouth aching, throat crumbling.

 

_You have, I estimate, twenty minutes left._

 

It was haphazard and panicked; shaking, sweating, seeing, hearing. Endless torture. _A bad case of the DTs._

 

_An emotional decision:_ cold steel against sweaty palm, tremoring, sobbing. Then agony. Idiot. Terrible shot.

 

A single involuntary muscle spasm propelled him into purgatory. Hurtling to where he belongs, deserves to be. He doomed himself with that first bittersweet sip. After Mary.

 

Haunting him, even now, especially now, his monster. Always standing, leering, over his shoulder, his scar. And now: his wound. She hangs over him. Horrid red smeared lips, pulled up and bared teeth, ready to devour. He sinks up, floats down, into the depths of her dark, dark eyes.

 

Drowning, choking, gargling. Rosie? Rosamund.

 

The demon can wait no longer, swoops down upon him. Plays with strangling the life from his lungs. Closing trachea, cervical spinal contusion. Claws carving, tearing at goosebump skin. Wringing the fight from her feast.

 

This is it.

 

_Alone? Of course alone._

 

But then; she flees. If devils leave, will angels follow?

 

“John?”

 

The crackle and whir of it warms and scalds him. Body on fire, heart burning out.

 

“John!”

 

Cold and soft capture his cheeks, juxtaposing that predator’s grip - just a ghost now. Perfectly sculpted cradle guides him: lift up, turn left, right, like a leisurely cloud. His head is lowered to a thrumming pillow, hot and damp. That familiar metallic odour is thick, clogging the nostrils. Earth trembling. Voice tremoring.

 

“Factoring in a degree of shock…” The angel halts, his voice stolen. “I’d say that your life as you know it has twenty minutes left to run.”

 

_Seventeen and a half to be precise._ Ringing. A phone.

 

“Ambulance,” two gentle pads press to his neck, wrung of life and warmth. “Hurry!”

 

Ringing… Still ringing. Everything. Spinning.

 

“Stay with me, John. Stay with-” Broken.

 

Darkness and bright light, painfully sharp and helplessly blurred. He is defeated. Losing everything: losing blood, consciousness, life. Opportunity. Him.

 

_No._

 

Dry, cold air stings his eyes. John sees him. His guardian angel. Ivory, ebony, and rose. Dewey cheeks, panicked gaze.

 

“John…” sings the starving songbird. “I can’t. They… Ten minutes.” Its feathers tremble in the storm, no escape without hope.

 

What can be said to that; the promise of the end? Parched lips grapple at a whisper: “Sh-rl…”

 

But is that all he can give this man, his man, in his final minutes? His chest aches more and more with each second of pained silence. Something more, anything. For him.

 

In his own fading light, John reaches his hand out, greeted by the soft embrace of another. They clasp in desperation, two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.

 

The room, thick with suffocating silence, is penetrated. _Through the clouds, like cotton wool._ That voice of innocence pierces, “This is… all I have ever wanted.” Tighter grip, aching bones.

 

“All I’ve truly wanted in all my life. Is you… you holding me.” Hot rain blesses his forehead and John looks up, not out of strength, but out of necessity - to experience all he can in these last moments. A pair of Aquamarine crystals twinkle within that dark grey cloud that settles over him, weeping. “You, John… Always you.”

 

Brows furrow weakly and out of focus eyes are submerged in a hot blur. _Are you confessing?_

 

“I always… Always thought, one day we would be… You’re the only person I -” Something silences sweetness, and out pours pain. “I know you,” steeling oscillation, “care about her deeply. It was my fault… All my fault, my plan. I asked you to… didn’t mean for you to…”

 

A pang rips through his heart - a break, or an attack. Love or death. “Nnnh…” More. Give him more. All he deserves. He deserves all. “No!”

 

It was faded and gristly, but determined. It hurt. He can’t stay here for long, but that ethereal being stares at him in desperate confusion.

 

“What…” Head shaking gently, “No, don’t talk. Please. Please just… Just hang on for - for five minutes?”

 

Both know he can’t.

 

_Confession is good for the soul._

 

“Shh… Sherlo- I,” God it hurts. Pain. Pain, pain. Darkness, his eyes have fallen again. He struggles through the thick, cold blanket. Back to light, barely, dim and dull and flying away faster than he will let it. He tethers himself to those Aquamarines.

 

“Y-you.” Squeezing his weak, stiff fingers against the other’s warm palm, thrumming with blood, humming with life everlasting. “L’ways… you. You, you…”

 

Thunderous weeping grates at his ears as salt waterfalls conceal the glistening gems that hover above him. Wrenching at his slow-beating heart, most agonising noise; an angel’s regret.

 

“God, no! J-John, I’m sorry. So sorry. I - I - If I’d - known,” he heaves and quakes, squeaks and screams. “Stop it! Stop it, now! I’ve confessed - that’s it, this is it, we can be together, now!”

 

John’s eyes fall closed on hot tears. His breath hitches - stops.

 

“Wake up, John… D-don’t leave me!”

 

Sirens blare in the distance. “They’re here now, you can do it! You can… I can’t - I love you, John. I love you, I love you, I-” Pain. “Please, John, for me… Please.” A fading whisper. 

 

_I_ _love you._

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this first installment and will be following this story through to the resolution.
> 
> As always, leave kudos and/or comments to let me know what you thought!
> 
> Be sure to stop by my tumblr for updates and general good times in johnlock hell: dickeddowndetective


End file.
